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SERMONS AND WHAT TO EXPECT IN THE MOSQUE ON FRIDAYS<br />

Habeebie Saif,<br />

When I was your age, I would go to the mosque on Fridays. The communal prayer was always an<br />

opportunity to feel connected with other people of all types. We would line up in rows, rich and poor<br />

alike, and we would go through the prostrations and recitals required of Muslims. Before the prayer<br />

started, we would all sit facing the front of the mosque and listen to the imam, or prayer leader,<br />

deliver his weekly sermon. Most of the time, I did not understand what he was saying. My Arabic<br />

language knowledge was not very strong. The parts I did understand usually involved the invocations<br />

to Allah to protect Muslims around the globe and defeat the enemies of Islam. My memory of these<br />

visits to Friday prayers is a mixed one. The beauty of prayer and communal worship, as we all<br />

prostrated in unison, whispering the prayers and verses of the Quran that form part of the event—I<br />

cherish this memory. But the violence and aggression of the sermon was something that my friends and<br />

I would always wonder about. This has become a very serious topic around the Muslim world since,<br />

and you can visit mosques today where the tone has changed significantly.<br />

I was fifteen when I first went to boarding school in the UK. I headed to the mosque on the first<br />

Friday—our day of rest and the day for communal prayers—instead of going to chapel, as the other<br />

children did. This was the understanding that I had with the school.<br />

My fellow Muslim schoolmates and I made our way down the suburban roads of the school’s<br />

town. The houses got smaller and smaller as we progressed. The neighborhood was clearly not wellto-do.<br />

Finally, one of my friends pointed out the house that had been designated as a mosque. Small,<br />

residential, and made of red brick. It was one of a hundred cookie-cutter houses of suburban England.<br />

We took our shoes off before stepping into the brightly lit interior. The house had been converted by<br />

having key walls removed to make way for a large prayer room. Multicolored silky Chinesemanufactured<br />

prayer mats were lined up untidily. We muttered shy greetings to the already gathered<br />

attendees. They were all dressed in South Asian clothes and seemed to know one another well. All<br />

older than us.<br />

I came away from that suburban mosque shocked at what seemed to be an extremely violent Islam.<br />

While the sermon was being conducted in a language I did not understand, but believe to have been<br />

Bengali, I was given little leaflets with machine guns drawn on them and injunctions to kill various

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